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First Memory*



I want to remember my first memory in life. Sunny day, small footsteps side by side with the slow strides of my mother as we walked to playschool. The place was near our home; it was more a nursery than a school. Children frolicked, sang songs, and ate snacks together.

As I look back, it might be the act of walking that has engraved an indelible mark upon my memory and my heart. I was breathing hard, climbing an uphill path, my heart pumping life to my weary legs. I remember trying to catch up with Mother’s pace. 

I don’t remember what I was thinking then. From this earliest memory of childhood, I cannot remember mother’s words, only my hand in her hand as we tread the dusty path from our house to the brown, unpainted shack with a rusty roof, but its windows had curtains. If you ask me how I felt, though, I can tell you. I felt loved. I felt secure.

My earliest memory is cradled on a sunny day. I love that I still seem to feel the warmth of her hand and the sun on my skin. And the cool breeze in that mountain region, yeah — bliss. I thank God for being entrusted with this memory.

revised, taken from another blog of mine https://courtofreverie.wordpress.com/2020/03/06/first-memory/

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